


Just Another Word

by anactoria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Community: salt_burn_porn, M/M, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anactoria/pseuds/anactoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument with Sam, Dean hits the road. Luckily for him, Benny's waiting at the other end of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Word

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [salt_burn_porn](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com) on LJ, for [viviansface](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/viviansface)'s prompt, _run away with me_.
> 
> Slightly AU, in that Dean is still seeing Benny after the breakup in this fic.

Dean turns his cellphone off an hour into the drive, ignoring his seven unread messages. He already knows what Sam thinks of his little expedition, and he doesn’t need to hear it again. He turns up the music and drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the road unspooling in front of him, the sky huge and still light around the edges. Like something out of Kerouac, only it sure isn’t enlightenment he’s headed for.

It’s morning by the time he sees a glimmer of sea on the horizon, Benny’s deathtrap of a truck parked up on the bluff overlooking it. Benny himself is leaning up against the hood, cap pulled down to shade his eyes, looking for all the world like he hasn’t noticed the Impala pulling up—though with vamp senses, there’s no way he didn’t hear Dean coming a mile off. He holds himself still with a fisherman’s patience, waiting for Dean to come to him.

There’s something troubled in the slope of his shoulders, but he shakes it off at the sound of the car door slamming shut, straightens up and lifts the brim of his cap to greet Dean with a crooked little smile. Always makes Dean do a double-take, the blue of his eyes—how piercing it is in the real world, away from Purgatory’s sickly grays. How they seem to see everything that’s inside of him before he even opens his trap.

Benny looks him up and down, obviously notices something that makes him decide against asking how things are. “Afternoon, Chief,” he says, instead. “Was startin’ to think you weren’t gonna make it.”

Dean snorts. “Afternoon my ass,” he says. “Didn’t drive all night to get another lecture.”

There’s no heat behind it, just tiredness, but Benny watches him, calculating, for half a minute before he shrugs and agrees, “That you didn’t.” He shifts over, making room for Dean to lean up against the truck beside him. Dean checks the hood for rust spots before he does, because he’s down to his last good pair of jeans, and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be Benny’s dumb truck that makes him go shopping.

When he looks up, there’s a twinkle of amusement in Benny’s eyes. But there’s no _princess_ comment like there would be with Sam—or like there might’ve been with Sam, once. No bemused look like there would be with Cas—or like there might be, if Cas wasn’t on the lam. Benny just turns his eyes back to the sea.

It’s calm this morning, stretching out all pale and glittering, the dark shapes of boats bobbing out near the horizon. The corner of Benny’s mouth twitches up in a smile, and for a minute, Dean can’t help but wonder what he’s remembering. What it would feel like to be out there balanced between the sea and the sky, just a tiny untethered speck, no ties, no worries.

Only that’s a dumb thing to wonder about. Dean knows it wasn’t that simple. It’s never that simple. And thinking about not-simple things takes him back right where he doesn’t wanna be, Sam and Cas and all the crap that lies between the three of them. The need to _not_ think about that stuff snakes out a hand and grabs him by the throat, hot and urgent.

He angles himself so he’s facing Benny. Wets his lips, tasting salt on them already. “C’mon,” he says, nudging Benny’s hip with his own. “I ain’t here for the view.”

There’s a flicker of something that might be disappointment in Benny’s eyes. He locks it down before Dean can get a read on it, though; shutters it away behind an eyebrow-raise and a teasing, “No? Mind tellin’ me what you are here for, then?”

Dean’s selfish enough not to question it. He goes along easy when Benny takes his hand and leads him round to the back of a truck, plasters on his best smirk and says, “Dude, you shouldn’t have,” when he realizes Benny’s put a blanket down in the back of the stupid thing.

Benny shrugs, glances down, and Dean’s pretty sure if he was alive, he’d be blushing right now. “Well hey,” he says. “You’re the one always complainin’ it ain’t cozy enough in here.”

He’s got a point. Benny might be a vamp of many skills, but keeping his wheels in mint condition sure isn’t one of them. Baby might not have as much space in the backseat, but she’s definitely cozier than this.

She’s also _home_ , though. She’s Sam and history and blood on the upholstery; she’s fights and prank wars and fucking excruciating attempts at meaningful conversation. Home isn’t what Dean needs right now, so he gets in the damn rustbucket.

He sheds his jacket and settles back on his elbows, waits for Benny to slide in beside him, lean in to cup his cheek and press their lips softly together. It’s a gentle slide of lips and tongue, Benny nuzzling at his cheek, at the spot just under his ear that sends sparks down his spine, the scratch of his beard making Dean laugh and bitch about how it’s like making out with a goddamn cactus.

It’s nice and all, but this isn’t what Dean needs right now, either. It won’t keep his brain from circling back to all the shit that got said before he split, or how he should probably be driving back there to make nice with Sam right now, or how much simpler this would all be if he was still in Purgatory. How he misses it more often than not these days.

Dean curls his hand around the back of Benny’s neck and deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue in hard and demanding. (He isn’t far gone enough to call it begging, not yet.) Benny seems to get what he’s asking for, though, because he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and rolls over, hauling Dean into his lap. There’s a low rumble somewhere in his chest that might be a laugh or a growl and he palms Dean’s ass through his jeans, nipping at his lower lip, not hard enough to hurt.

Yeah, that’s more like it. Dean groans into the kiss, need prickling hot over the surface of his skin, his dick giving a twitch of interest.

Benny’s cool under his hands, some quirk of vamp physiology Dean’s never gotten around to asking about making it so they warm up slower than humans, don’t feel the cold the same. Right now, that means Benny’s wearing nothing but the thin layer of his Henley, and Dean wastes no time getting it out the way, yanking it off over Benny’s head and tossing it into the interior of the truck. Benny’s cap goes with it, the brim catching, and Benny chuckles, big hands sneaking up under Dean’s shirts and skimming his sides.

“In a hurry today, ain’t we, brother?” he says.

“Yeah, well.” Dean flashes him a grin. “Patience is a virtue and I ain’t a saint.”

 _Please_ , he doesn’t say, _I need this_. Maybe Benny sees it in his face, though, because he doesn’t make any more cracks about Dean’s impatience, just gets to work helping Dean out of his shirts between fierce kisses. He rubs teasingly at Dean’s cock through his jeans, gives a roll of his hips so that Dean can feel that he’s hard, too, cock nestled huge and hot against his thigh.

Dean swallows hard, his mouth watering already, and he can’t even manage to be embarrassed about it, not right now. Not when he needs this so damn bad. He needs Benny’s calloused hands on him, Benny’s dick in his mouth or his ass, Benny sucking bruises into his skin that he’ll spend the next week hiding with shirts buttoned up to the collar. He needs all of it, to chase reality away.

He levers himself out of Benny’s lap, and when Benny doesn’t immediately take the hint, Dean gets on it for him, yanking Benny’s pants and his boxers down around his knees in a single movement.

Benny’s hand finds his head, curls in his hair, forcing him to look up. For a second, Dean’s afraid Benny will tell him to slow down—or worse, ask him what’s wrong—but he doesn’t. He just looks into Dean’s face, searching—and then, apparently satisfied with what he sees there, guides Dean’s head back down to his cock, hard as rebar and glistening with precome.

Dean tongues gently at the slit of it, tasting salt and a coppery tang that reminds him Benny isn’t entirely human. He wraps his lips around the tip, sucks gently for a moment, just to hear Benny’s shuddery exhale above him, feel the way every muscle in his body tightens up, his grip in Dean’s hair turning painful.

Dean’s good at this. Hell, it’s one of the few non-weird skills he has, being able to take the people he fucks apart with his hands and his mouth, coax out shivers of pleasure and desperate growls. It’s so different from the day job he’s sometimes a little afraid to be proud of it. When he’s in the mood, he can tease for hours.

But he’s in another mood today. After a couple seconds, he dives right in, takes Benny in deep, swallowing around the length of his cock until the head nudges at the back of his throat. Benny holds himself still, letting Dean get used to it, but that isn’t what this is about, not today. So Dean tightens his grip on Benny’s hips and just goes for it, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like his damn life depends on it.

Luckily, that’s all the hint Benny needs. He tightens his deathgrip on Dean’s hair and gives a shallow thrust. Gentle the first time, then harder, the snap of his hips turning sharp and brutal. Dean lets his eyes flutter closed, lets himself relax and just go with it. For a moment, it’s all he can feel—the relief of it and how much he still needs, his hand getting trapped between his hips and the blanket as he reaches down to rub at his own neglected hard-on, Benny fucking his mouth until he sees stars, almost choking with it.

He gets lost in it, right here. Not thinking, just feeling. The quick, punishing rhythm, the drag of Benny’s cock over his tongue, the taste of his precome, like the sea when there’s blood in the water. The frustrated thrusts of Dean’s own hips as he tries to get a little friction, only the angle’s all wrong and he still has his pants on. That’s okay, though, because he’s not thinking, he’s not thinking, _not_ —

It’s a shock when Benny pulls away, coaxing Dean up to sit back on his heels. Dean blinks, mouth opening around a protest that’s only half-formed when Benny shakes his head.

“Ain’t gonna get much further if you keep that up,” he warns, curling a hand around to squeeze Dean’s ass just in case his meaning wasn’t clear.

And yeah, okay, Dean can get behind that. Or on that, or under that, whatever. He kicks off his boots and wriggles out of his jeans and boxers, letting out a groan of relief when his aching cock finally gets freed, while Benny digs around in the depths of the truck and comes up with a tube of fucking Astroglide.

“Seriously?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “Never knew you were such a Boy Scout.”

“Yeah,” Benny drawls. “No idea how I saw this eventuality comin’.”

“Shut up,” Dean tells him, because it isn’t like they had the luxury in Purgatory, and for all he knew Benny was into that. Then he stops thinking again, because Benny’s guiding him forward onto his hands and knees, and there are two thick, lube-slick fingers pushing into him, slow and careful.

Dean shivers, breathing out through his nose as he forces himself to relax around the intrusion. Benny takes his time, a gentling hand on Dean’s hip as he works his fingers in and out in lazy movements. He crooks them forward, then, finds the sweet spot that has Dean hissing out a “Fuck!” and arching back into him, curling a hand around his own throbbing dick.

Benny chuckles behind him and gives a twist of his wrist that sends a current up Dean’s spine, straight to some animal part of his brain and right back to his cock.

That’s way more than enough foreplay for today, he decides. He’s done waiting. “C’mon,” he gets out, bucking back onto Benny’s fingers. “C’mon, fuck me already.”

One more slow twist of Benny’s fingers and he’s pretty much squirming, Benny pressing a slow kiss to the back of his shoulder. The fingers are gone, then, but Dean doesn’t have time to miss them, because there’s the pop of a cap and then the blunt head of Benny’s dick pressing into him, spearing him open and driving all the breath from his lungs.

Benny presses in deep, holds himself there for the space of a breath, draped over Dean’s back and trembling against him. Dean reaches back, digs fingers into the meat of Benny’s thigh, his ass, anywhere just to get him closer. “ _C’mon_ ,” he says again, and this time it might actually be a whine, but screw it, he’ll worry about his lost man-card later.

No chuckle, this time. Benny just takes a single, shaky breath, pulls almost all the way out and then slams back in again, balls-deep, punching a small, involuntary noise out of Dean’s throat.

“Yeah,” he gets out, voice scratchy. “Yeah, that’s—fuck.”

That’s all he manages, because then Benny’s gripping his hips and fucking him so hard the goddamn truck shakes. He’s relentless, and yeah, _that’s_ exactly what Dean needs right now. He matches Benny’s rhythm, fucking back onto him, jacking himself hard and fast. He lets his eyes close, world narrowed to his hand on his cock and Benny’s dick in his ass. He’s caught between the two, nothing else, and he’s so damn close, just hanging over the edge, like the moment before a cartoon character realizes they’ve walked off a cliff. So damn close but not there, and the frustration makes its way into every movement, every breath, every noise that Benny’s thrusts wring from him.

Benny’s beard brushes the back of his neck. “You good, Chief?” he murmurs, against Dean’s skin. “You want more?”

Dean doesn’t stop to ask what _more_ is, just nods. “Yeah,” he gets out. “Yeah, more’s good.”

For a second, Benny goes still. Then there’s the tip of a finger teasing at Dean’s rim again, tracing the stretch of it around Benny’s cock before pressing in, and he hovers over that edge a second longer, and that’s all she wrote. Dean thinks he might actually whimper as his orgasm pulses out of him, come streaking the blanket as he clenches around Benny’s cock and his finger. A second later Benny’s hips stutter and he follows, his weight sagging across Dean’s back, his arm wrapping tight around Dean’s waist.

“Wow,” Dean gets out, once he’s gotten his breath back. “I needed that.”

Benny doesn’t answer, just presses another kiss to the nape of his neck.

 

* * *

 

Later, they sit on the hood of the Impala—Dean insisted, this time—looking back out across the ocean. It’s mid-morning now, sunlight sparkling on the water, the thin strip of sand beneath the bluff starting to fill up with people.

Benny takes slow, meditative sips of his beer, eyes on the horizon, free hand palm-up on the hood of the car, just close enough Dean could take it if he wanted. Dean fidgets with the ringpull of his can, eyes darting between Benny and the water.

“Let’s hire a boat,” he breaks out, surprising himself. “Hire a boat and just—just freaking disappear, man.”

Benny looks at him, mild. He doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow, and Dean deflates.

Nice idea, but freedom’s just another word, and all that stuff. And Dean—well, Dean’s always got something left to lose.

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

He starts a little when Benny takes his hand. “Dean,” he says, sad little smile on his face, eyes shadowed by the brim of his cap. “If I thought you were runnin’ to me, not away from anything else? I’d sail away with you tomorrow.”

Dean swallows. “Benny—” he begins, and then can’t think how to finish his sentence.

Still the same sad smile. “Don’t,” Benny tells him. “Go back tonight. Figure things out with your brother. Sea’ll still be there when you’re done.”

Dean looks down at their joined hands, out at the lonely horizon. “Yeah,” he says, at last. “Yeah, I guess it will.”

 

* * *

 

Dean hits the road with an ache in his ass and his head a little clearer than it was last night. He turns his cell back on a couple miles down the road. To his surprise, the most recent text from Sam says, _Truce, okay? Kevin called. He said it’s important._

So he drives east. Benny’s words stay with him as he heads back to reality, though.

He’ll meet Sam, they’ll deal with whatever needs dealing with, they’ll get Cas back, and they’ll figure their shit out. The sea will still be there when they’re done.

And maybe, maybe, so will Benny.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me? [LJ](http://anactoria.livejournal.com) | [Tumblr](http://anactorya.tumblr.com)


End file.
